


Maybe It Wasn't A Dream

by Astralda0602



Series: Stydia One-Shots [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia has a nightmare, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Season/Series 03, so she goes to stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralda0602/pseuds/Astralda0602
Summary: Stiles hadn't expected to find Lydia, shaking and sobbing on his doorstep, in the middle of the night. He certainly wasn't expecting to have a little heart-to-heart about his recent possession with the girl he had been in love with since 3rd grade.
Relationships: Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski
Series: Stydia One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1895776
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Maybe It Wasn't A Dream

Stiles woke up to the ringing of the doorbell to his house. Well, not exactly woken up, more like thrown out of bed. It was the collision of his shoulder to the ground that actually woke him up, but he was up on his feet just a second later, already grabbing the aluminum baseball bat besides his bed. He blinked away the daze of his sleep, his eyes adjusting to the darkness around him. The fact that he was in his room was the first thing that hit him, and he immediately relaxed a little. Then, he realized that it was the dead of the night, just past three in the morning. And then the frantic ringing of his doorbell rang in his ears.

Still clutching that bat, Stiles slowly made his way downstairs and flicking on a light. It probably wasn't the smartest move, announcing his proximity to whoever was on the other side of that door, but Stiles needed to be able to see the person on the other side in case the bat needed to be put to use. The ringing hadn't slowed down. Whoever was trying to get his attention was clearly in a rush. Bat at the ready, he slowly pulled the door open and then froze in his tracks. 

His first thought was that he had to be dreaming. He was dreaming and soon, he would wake up in another dream. The cycle never really ended, did it? The torture had to continue.

Her long red hair stood out in the darkness of the night. Her pale skin seemed to cast a faint glow around her. But it was the tears rolling down her cheeks that caught his attention. They glistened in the light coming from the house, swiftly running down her cheeks, dropping onto the simple grey shirt she had on. They left clear tracks on her skin, falling down from her perfect green eyes, distant and far away as if she were severely zoned out. Then he heard her choked up sobs and saw the shiver in her shoulders, and worry rose up in his chest.

“Lydia?” Stiles cocked his head to the side in confusion, setting the bat aside and opening the door wider, taking a step forward, closer to the crying girl. At the sound of his voice, Lydia seemed to break out of whatever daze she was in, her eyes finally focusing on Stiles, widening when he finally came into view. “Lydia, you okay? What are you doing here?” Stiles questioned, worry reflecting in his voice and eyes.

“You... I...” Lydia stuttered, “You're you...” she finally whispered, placing a hesitant hand on Stiles's chest. He was confused, but he didn't back away. Lydia's other hand slowly traveled up to Stiles's cheek, and a shiver ran through his spine at the contact. She cupped the side of his face, her soft fingers gently brushing over his skin. His own hand reached up and covered the one Lydia placed on his chest without him even thinking about it. Lydia's teary eyes stared right up into his own, her rapid pants slowing down with each second, the trembling of her body slowly dying down. “You're you...” she repeated.

“I'm me,” Stiles replied, “Of course I'm me. Lydia, what's happening?” He didn't even try to conceal the worry in his voice. It's not exactly every night that a girl shows up at his doorstep at 3 in the morning, crying and shaking, repeating that he is himself; especially not the girl he's been in love with since third grade. 

“I... I had a nightmare...” Lydia choked out. “You... You were still... We-we couldn't get you out... He... He... Oh God, Stiles...” she broke out crying again, slamming into Stiles and burying her face in his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist and back. The close contact shocked Stiles for a second, but then her tears staining his shirt just a moment after brought him back. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her upper back, squeezing her tightly to himself.

“Hey, shh... It's okay,” he tried to comfort her, “It was just a dream. I'm right here, okay? It's over, everything's okay...” he whispered, running his arms up and down her back in an attempt to comfort her, maybe warm her up a little too. “Let's get you inside, come on.” 

He pulled away from their hug slightly, still keeping her close to him by an arm wrapped around her back, as he guided her inside the house, kicking the door shut behind them. Stiles lead her up the stairs and into his room. It was messy, and he absent-mindedly reprimanded himself for not having tidied it up before he went to bed, but it didn't really matter all that much at the moment. He sat Lydia down on the bed, wrapping a blanket around her to warm her up. He shuffled around his room, leaping over to his desk and pulling out a box of tissues from one of the drawers (he made sure to always keep them close after Lydia came to him after his first lacrosse game) and handing it to her. He quickly ran downstairs and filled a glass of water, setting it down on the bedside table before crouching down in front of Lydia, taking her hands in his.

The redhead had calmed down a little. She wasn't sobbing or shaking violently anymore, but she definitely was still crying, silent tears running down her cheeks. It hurt Stiles to see her like that, and he wanted to get to the bottom of whatever was happening. His worry grew with each and every second, and he was itching to find out what had happened. He didn't want to upset or push Lydia too far, but he needed to know why she had come.

“Lydia, you okay?” he asked, just to be on the safe side. The banshee nodded curtly. “Why don't you tell me what's happened? Why did you come?”

“I...” Lydia began, but cut herself off with a deep breath. Stiles squeezed her hand in a way that was supposed to be comforting, encouraging. Lydia let out a deep sigh, “I was at home. Everything was normal, perfectly normal. I finished my homework and I went to bed. The next thing I know, I'm dreaming.”

“Okay, was it, like, a banshee premonition or just a regular dream?” Stiles inquired.

“I think... I think it was just a dream,” Lydia explained, “But it... It felt so real...”

“What felt real?” Stiles whispered softly, “What did you see?”

Lydia took in a deep breath, a tear escaping her eye, “I saw you. I saw the Nogitsune. The day Scott and I separated you two. Only... Only we didn't...” She choked out a sob, “You didn't hear Scott's howl and... and... And he killed you... Right before us, inside your own head! He killed you, and then he killed Allison, and Aiden, and then we were at the school and he killed Scott and Kira... And I remember... I remember him saying how you hated us all, and how you wanted us dead. And I remember looking into your eyes as he pushed that sword into me... And I remember calling out your name, and I remember him smiling and saying how you were him and... and... And then I woke up and I remember screaming and I was so worried and... And I just ran here. I needed to see you, I needed to know you were you and that he was gone. It was all so real, I needed to see you. Oh my God, Stiles, I was so scared...”

Somewhere halfway through her story, Lydia had started crying again, shaking and sobbing. Stiles listened tentatively, feeling her pain and fear in her voice. It killed him to see her like that. It destroyed him to know he was the cause of her pain, to some extent. He hated how she felt at that moment. Someone like Lydia never should've had to feel that way, never should've had to shed one single tear. Stiles felt his urge to protect her kicking in, the need to shield her from every kind of harm.

When she finished recounting her story, Stiles was tearing up too, but he knew he needed to be strong. For Lydia. She was full-on crying when she was done, trembling and gasping for air through sobs that racked her body. Stiles pushed himself up onto the bed beside her, wrapping Lydia up in his arms and pulling her close so that she was almost sitting on his lap. He rocked them back and forth, rubbing Lydia's back and shushing her, trying to calm the girl down.

“It's okay, Lyds, it's okay,” he whispered, “I'm right here, okay? I'm right here. I'm me, and Void is gone. You're here, Scott and Kira are too. He's not. He'll never hurt you again, I promise. It's okay...”

They sat in silence for a while. It could've been minutes, it could've been hours, Stiles wasn't sure. He kept Lydia safely wrapped in his arms, though she had stopped crying some time ago. Neither of them said a thing, neither of them moved, they just sat there in each other's arms.

Then Lydia spoke up, “What was it like? Being possessed?” She shifted so that she was looking up at him. Something must have changed in Stiles's expression because she immediately seemed to regret what she said. “I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't've said anything, forget I asked.”

“No, no, it's-it's okay,” Stiles stuttered, “I was just... Never mind, it's okay, really.” Stiles looked away briefly, pausing to take in a deep breath and figure out the best way to answer. He contemplated whether he should lie to her, tell her he didn't remember much. It would probably be easier on her that way. But Stiles had things he needed to get off his chest too. He had been harboring so much, and he felt like he was about to burst. He too needed to talk, but he didn't want to burden Lydia.

Turns out, he didn't have much choice in the matter. The words started flowing out of his mouth before he even realized he was talking. His voice was surprisingly leveled and kind of strong, even. He had expected it to be shaky and unsure, scared, because that's how he felt. But no, it was even, but he could still feel the fear in it.

“It was... weird. Scary,” he began, “I felt like I was chained, locked in place somewhere. I felt like I was paralyzed in my own body. I could feel myself moving, I could feel the things I touched and every injury he took. I felt everything, but I couldn't move. I could only watch. I couldn't speak, I could barely think, and I couldn't stop myself from doing things. I felt like I was trapped inside someone else. I guess, in a way, I really was. But the scary part was...” He trailed off, unsure if he should or could continue.

“What?” Lydia asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the dark.

“I heard him,” Stiles sighed, the evenness of his voice gone, “I could hear him talking inside my mind. I could hear him laughing as I screamed inside my own head. Sometimes, he would pull me into that weird bardo where you found me, and he would make me play that game. But he kept taunting me, he kept telling me about the things he'd do. To the town. To my friends. To Scott. To you. He'd talk to me every single second, and he would laugh when I tried to push him out. I was screaming the entire time, but no sound ever came out. I was completely paralyzed... I should've done more, I should've fought harder!”

“No, no, Stiles, listen to me,” Lydia grabbed his hands, squeezing them tight, “What happened, it wasn't your fault. You hear me? None of it was your fault. It was the Nogitsune's. Stiles, what happened to you was horrible, and I wish we could've done something sooner, and I am so, so sorry you had to go through that. I wish there was more I could've done. I wish I had done something sooner. I wish you didn't have to go through that in the first place. But Stiles, this isn't your fault, okay? You were the victim as much as anyone else who had to go through that. It wasn't you, okay? Don't you ever think that it was your fault. You're nothing like him. You're good, and pure, and brave, and you're... Stiles. You're Stiles, the boy who stuck by his best friend when he was bitten, and who didn't abandon anyone no matter how tough the situation was. Stiles, you're the smartest, bravest, the best person I have ever known. Don't you forget that, okay? Don't you ever forget that.”

Stiles felt tears picking at his eyes. Lydia had shed one or two, but she wasn't sobbing anymore. Stiles couldn't really say anything to her. No words could describe just how much what she had said meant to him. He couldn't describe just how much he needed to hear that. He thought he was going to burst from the guilt, and it was still there, but Lydia saying that made it just that much more bearable. He couldn't find an appropriate string of words that would express just how grateful he was at that moment, how much he loved her being there.

So he hugged her. He swallowed hard, blinked away the tears, nodded, and then he hugged her. He wrapped his arms around her back, and he held her tightly to himself as if this reality he was so desperately clinging onto would melt away and he would wake up from another terrible nightmare, just to face another one, if she pulled away. Lydia didn't let go, nor did she let the grip on the back of his shirt weaver for a second. Again, Stiles simply couldn't find the words that would describe how much he felt for her at that moment. So he said the only thing that came to mind.

“Thank you.”

Lydia didn't respond, but Stiles felt her nod and bury her face in the crook of his neck. In fact, neither of them said anything for a long while, they just sat there, holding each other.

It was Stiles who pulled away first. He flashed a small smile towards Lydia, thanking any and every deity out there that it hadn't been a dream. But it sure as hell was about to end.

“I should probably go,” Lydia said finally, “It's late, I should let you sleep. I just needed to make sure it was over. I'll go now.”

“No, actually,” Stiles grabbed her hand in a moment of panic, not being able to bear the thought of her leaving him alone just yet. He didn't care how tired he was or nothing, he needed her to stay, if just a few seconds longer. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes pleading with her, “Could you stay? Just a little while? I'll drive you home later.”

“Oh no, you don't have to, really, it's fine, I'll walk-”

“Lydia, like hell I'm letting you go and walk all the way back to your house alone in the middle of the night,” Stiles protested through somewhat of a forced smirk. But then he dropped that, pouring his heart and soul into his face and voice, “Please? Just for a little while?”

Lydia stared at him for a few moments, though Stiles wasn't really able to read her face. In the end, he must have really been dreaming, because he could've sworn he saw relief in Lydia's tiny smile. “Okay,” she whispered finally, sitting back down beside Stiles, “I'll stay. But I'll have to warn you, I ran all the way over here, I probably stink,” she forced out a chuckle, one that Stiles actually replied to. 

He pushed himself off the bed, walking over to his closet, “That's okay, you can borrow one of my shirts if you'd like to change?” he offered, pulling out a freshly washed and ironed blue Beatles shirt. Lydia didn't know it, but that shirt held a special place in Stiles's heart, and no one except himself was ever allowed to wear it. No one except Lydia. It seemed right to give it to her then, so he did that. Lydia took the shirt from him with a small smile, disappearing out into the hallway, and reappearing back in the shirt. 

Stiles had trouble stifling out his smile. To say Lydia looked cute in that shirt would be an understatement. It was too big for her, the shoulders hanging down and the hem reaching her mid-thigh. It was a men's loose fit, so of course, it looked giant on the tiny redhead, and Stiles absolutely adored it. He loved seeing Lydia in any light and presentation, but there was just something about seeing her with no makeup on, her hair all messy, and in a shirt that did not fit her or her style at all. It really made Stiles feel warm to see the real, unaltered Lydia.

“Oh wipe that smirk off your face, Stilinski,” Lydia joked as she tossed her grey Tee on the desk chair and sat back down on the bed. 

Stiles chuckled again, “I can't help it, you look adorable.”

Lydia looked away from him, her eyes trailed on the floor below, but he could still see her tiny, tiny smile, and he could've sworn he saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Yep, he was definitely dreaming, but it was a nice dream for once, so Stiles didn't really mind. 

With a smile still present on his face, Stiles sat back down on the bed, pushing some pillows behind him so he could rest against the wall comfortably. He sat criss-cross opposite of Lydia, just admiring the way she seemed to shine in the dim light of one single lamp. They just sat there, talking and laughing in hushed voices, enjoying each other's presence, until finally, sleep overtook them both.

Maybe it wasn't a dream in the end.

* * *

The next morning, Sheriff Stilinski marched up the stairs towards his still sleeping son's room. He had to get that boy out of there or he'd miss school. Taking a sip from his coffee mug, the Sheriff gently pushed the doors open, and to say he was shocked at the sight would be a bit of an understatement.

His first instinct told him to barge in there screaming bloody murder and demand to know what Lydia Martin was doing in Stiles's room, but then he really took in the sight, and he softened immediately. The light seeping in through the closed blinds illuminated the room just enough for him to see them nicely.

They were lying on the bed, cuddling together. The petite redhead was curled up against the tall, lanky boy's chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively. The Sheriff smiled when he saw the shirt the banshee was wearing. It was the one he had bought ages ago, and given to his late wife, who gave it to Stiles just before she died. The Sheriff knew Stiles had had a crush on the girl lying beside him for a long time (and he planned on having a talk with him about what went on that night), but he couldn't help but smile at the gesture. That shirt was Stiles's favorite, and no one was ever allowed to wear it. To see that he had let this girl put it on showed just how much it meant to him.

The Sheriff couldn't bear the thought of disturbing them. He couldn't really remember the last time he saw his son look that at ease, that peaceful. He missed seeing his son so relaxed, the traces of the demon fox that once possessed him now almost gone. So instead of barging in there, demanding answers, Noah simply smiled to himself, deciding that the two could rest for now and miss one day of school, so he closed the door, leaving the pair to sleep more blissfully than either had done in a long time, curled up in each other's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I hope you liked this little one-shot. It's shorter than the other one I've posted, but I think I like it just as much. As always, feedback is welcome and much appreciated! Thank you for giving this little drabble a read!
> 
> If there's anything you'd like to see in this Stydia series, I take requests on [ my Tumblr blog ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/astralda0602), so feel free to contact me there. 
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
